King of Violence (Gods of Montcove #3)

1. Julian

JULIAN

“ G et on your knees, Valdez,” I say.

The man kneels against the cold warehouse floor. His eyes look up at me expectantly, causing a thrill to rush up my spine.

He’s cute , I think.

I tilt my head, taking in the slight stubble on his chin that gives the illusion of a sculpted jawline. I see fear welling in those dull brown eyes of his. He’s no Sexiest Man Alive, but I could be tempted.

I lean down so my eyes are level with his. “Now be a good boy and open your mouth.”

Valdez shudders, his lips parting wide, saliva slipping from his wet tongue.

I shove my gun into his mouth, causing him to gag against the cool metal.

Lewis, my bodyguard, shifts on his feet. “Mr. Greco…”

I ignore his warning tone. “Valdez, if you don’t have my fucking money by…” I look at my watch. “…precisely 2:03 next Wednesday, I’m gonna make sure one of my bullets rips through this handsome head of yours.” I smile, shoving the gun farther down his throat. “Sound good?”

Tears stream down his face as he barely nods.

“Great!” I yank my gun out of his mouth and use his shirt to wipe the drool from the weapon. “Can you finish this up, Lewis? I’ve got practice.”

“Yes, sir.”

***

“Julian, where the hell have you been?” Cole Andrews slams his gym locker shut, his brown hair a mess from hastily pulling on his practice jersey.

I yank off my street clothes and toss them into my locker, trying to find my gear. “Just some family stuff.”

Cole nods.

I assume he thinks I mean visiting a sick grandma, not shaking down a guy in a blood-spattered warehouse.

“I guess it doesn’t matter if you’re late. You are coach’s golden boy.” Cole’s eyes glance down at my exposed torso, where my tanned skin is taut over my six-pack abs.

“My eyes are up here, Andrews,” I tease.

Cole’s eyes snap to my face, his cheeks tinted pink.

Not that I can blame him. My trainer has been making me pack on the pounds to gain more muscle.

I scoff, pulling on my undershirt. “I’ll have to tell Alexa you’re enjoying her work. At least someone is.”

Cole turns and grabs his water bottle from the bench. “What, you’re not seeing What’s-his-name anymore?”

“Who? Martin or Patrick?”

Cole rolls his eyes and closes his locker. “You’re such a whore.”

I don’t disagree. In my line of work, I can’t get too close to anyone. It’s too dangerous. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get my rocks off when I can.

“What? Jealous?” I grab my jersey and follow Cole to the field.

“Of your many STDs? Not likely.”

I glance around at the championship flags hanging in the hallway that leads to the field. I see an old athlete poster of me with my foot on my helmet.

Valmont College Champion: Julian Greco

I smile. This team could never last without me.

Practice ends with a triumphant roar from the team, the sound echoing across the field. Sweat drips from my brow, but I’m grinning like the cocky bastard I am. Coach claps me on the back as I pass, shouting something about my game-saving pass during the scrimmage. It’s nothing new. I’m used to being the best.

I yank off my helmet and shake out my damp hair, letting the cool breeze hit my face. My teammates are already heading to the locker room, but I take my time walking off the field, basking in the glow of being Valmont College’s golden boy.

And then I see him.

A serious-looking guy sitting on the bleachers with two studious-looking girls.

The guy has his arms crossed as he leans his tall frame back on the bench like he’s bored out of his fucking mind. He’s not dressed like someone who belongs here—no school colors or casual athletic gear. Instead, he’s in a tailored navy blazer over a crisp white shirt, dark slacks that cling to lean legs, and polished loafers. His face is sharp, all high cheekbones and a strong jaw framed by thick black hair swept away from his forehead. He’s got a pair of glasses perched on his nose, giving him a look that screams I have a stick up my ass .

But it’s his expression that catches my attention.

Where most people would be looking at me with admiration—or, let’s face it, jealousy—this guy’s dark eyes are hard and assessing, like he’s trying to figure out the exact kind of trouble I am.

A smirk tugs at my lips.

I jog over, wiping my face with the hem of my jersey. The girls are talking excitedly as they see me turn in their direction, but they hurry away as if scared to speak to me.

The guy rolls his eyes and stands to pack up his belongings.

“Hey,” I call out, flashing my signature grin. “You lost or something? This isn’t the library.”

Tall, dark, and handsome barely reacts. His eyes flick to me, then back to the field like I’m not worth his time.

“Not lost,” he says flatly. His voice is low and calm, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like a blade hidden under silk.

Damn. I’m intrigued.

I hook my helmet under one arm and lean casually on the fence separating us. “You’ve got that whole ‘too cool for this’ vibe going on, but you’re watching us practice. That tells me you’re at least a little impressed.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he replies, his tone icy. “My peers wanted to study here today.”

Most people can’t resist my charm, but this guy isn’t biting. That only makes me more determined.

“And yet you still tagged along,” I point out.

He doesn’t reply.

“You got a name?” I ask.

He glances down at me with a look of distaste. “Felix Caruso.”

Caruso . The name sounds familiar, but I don’t dwell on it.

I stick out my hand. “Julian Greco—star quarterback, campus legend, all-around amazing guy.”

Felix looks at my hand like it’s a dead, rotten fish, then reluctantly shakes it. His grip is firm, but he lets go quickly, as if he doesn’t want to be contaminated. He turns on his heel and begins walking toward the stadium exit. I trail along the fence and easily keep up with his rushed pace.

“Let me guess,” I say, tilting my head. “You’re a law student, right? You’ve got that ‘future prosecutor’ vibe. Very by the book .”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “And you’ve got that ‘entitled athlete’ vibe. Very above the law .”

I laugh, genuinely amused. “Touché. But come on, you don’t have to be so serious. You’re at Valmont, not some Ivy League boot camp.”

Felix crosses his arms again, his gaze steady on the exit in front of him. “Some of us are here to learn and work, not just play games and party.”

I quickly jump over the fence, and Felix almost runs into me. “Who says I’m not working? Being the best takes effort, you know.”

Felix doesn’t back away, but his jaw tightens. “I’ve read about you, Julian Greco. You’ve got talent, sure, but you also come from a family that pays off your debts.”

“Oh, so you’ve researched me,” I say, my tone light. “I’m flattered. I didn’t know I had a fan in the law school.”

“I’m not a fan,” Felix says sharply.

“Then what are ya, hm?” My smirk widens, masking the flicker of tension in my chest.

Is he an undercover cop? A reporter? A member of a rival family?

“A rule follower.” For a second, his words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. Most people wouldn’t dare talk to me like this—not without worrying about their reputation. But Felix isn’t like most people.

“Well, Felix,” I say, stepping back with a grin. “If you like rules, you’d better make sure to catch my next game. I promise to give you something worth writing about in that notebook of yours.”

Felix doesn’t respond. He just turns and walks away, his posture stiff, leaving me standing there with a strange mix of irritation and amusement.

I watch him go, the set of his shoulders rigid as he disappears toward the academic buildings.

“Interesting,” I mutter to myself as I head back to the locker room.

Felix Caruso might be my favorite challenge yet.

The locker room is alive with the usual post-practice chaos—guys shouting, joking, and blasting music from a speaker someone smuggled in. I’m halfway through peeling off my gear when Cole plops down on the bench next to me, a towel draped around his neck.

“Who was that guy you were talking to?” he asks, jerking his thumb toward the field.

“Just some law student,” I reply casually.

Cole raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t look like he was handing out compliments.”

I grin. “He’s just playing hard to get.”

Cole snorts. “Man, you’ve got issues.”

“Maybe,” I admit, tossing my jersey into my locker. “But at least I’m not boring.”

Later that evening, I’m back in my apartment, scrolling through my phone while some mindless reality show plays in the background.

My thoughts keep drifting back to Felix Caruso—his cool demeanor, the way he didn’t flinch under my scrutiny, the way he seemed to see right through me, the fact that he was so goddamn tall and lean...

It’s not often I meet someone who doesn’t crumble under my charm. And it’s even rarer to meet someone who looks at me like I’m the enemy.

I don’t like being underestimated—or dismissed.

Grinning to myself, I open my laptop and start typing “Felix Caruso” into the search bar.

Time to find out what makes Mr. Perfect tick.

The search results flood my screen and I lean back in my chair, skimming through the highlights. Felix Caruso, twenty-four years old. Top student in Valmont’s prestigious law program. Graduated summa cum laude from his undergrad. A few news articles, mostly from local outlets, cover academic achievements or student leadership events.

It’s all pretty standard stuff—until I find a photo buried in an older article.

Felix, younger, maybe in his late teens, stands in front of a courthouse with a somber expression. Beside him is a woman who looks like an older version of him—his mom, I’m guessing. The caption reads: Felix Caruso and family attend the sentencing hearing of alleged mafia enforcer linked to the killing of his father, Marco Caruso .

My stomach tightens.

So that’s it. His father was a victim of mafia violence. No wonder he’s so tightly wound, so eager to chase after justice. The pieces fall into place—his rigid demeanor, the chip on his shoulder, the way he looked at me like I represented everything he hated.

But here’s the kicker: Felix doesn’t know my family’s part in the same underworld that tore his apart.

To him, I’m just another rich kid from a well-off family who coasts through life on privilege.

That should make me feel nervous, maybe even guilty. Instead, I find myself wanting to understand him more.

I snap my laptop shut and grab my jacket. Sitting here isn’t going to get me anywhere.

Valmont’s campus is quieter at night, the sidewalks lit by old-fashioned lampposts that cast long shadows over the cobblestones. I head toward the library, figuring it’s the best place to clear my head…and maybe “accidentally” bump into Felix.

The library hums with a muted energy. Students hunch over laptops and textbooks, their voices low and focused. And there he is, sitting at a table near the back.

Felix looks different here, surrounded by books and the soft glow of his laptop screen. His earlier sharpness is still there, but there’s something more relaxed in the way he sits, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he scribbles in a notebook.

For a moment, I hesitate. He doesn’t know who I really am. And for some reason, I don’t want to ruin this clean slate just yet.

I make my approach, letting my footsteps make just enough noise to catch his attention.

“Burning the midnight oil, counselor?” I say, leaning casually against the bookshelf.

Felix looks up, his blue eyes narrowing as soon as he recognizes me. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I ask as I pull out the chair across from him. “I’m here to learn.”

Felix raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here.”

“And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at the football stadium.” I flash a grin as I sit. “Besides, I’ve been known to pick up a book or two.”

Felix leans back in his chair, his expression skeptical. “Let me guess. One of those books about ‘unlocking your full potential’ or Goodnight Moon ?”

“Ouch,” I say, clutching my chest dramatically. “The kitty has claws. I’ll have you know I’m full of untapped intellectual potential.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Felix mutters, turning back to his notes.

His dismissive tone would normally piss me off, but I can’t seem to drag myself away from him. I want to know why he doesn’t like me. I need him to like me.

“So,” I say, leaning forward, “what’s got you buried in books this late? Big case study? Crushing the hopes and dreams of someone less prepared?”

Felix sighs, clearly annoyed but too polite to tell me to leave outright. “I’m working on a research paper. It’s due next week, and I don’t have time for distractions.”

“Distractions? Me?” I feign shock. “I’m offended. I’m here to add value to your study session.”

“Doubtful,” Felix replies, his tone as sharp as his pencil as he underlines something in his notebook.

I watch him for a moment, my grin fading into something softer. He’s so tightly wound, like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It makes me wonder if he ever lets himself relax, even for a second.

“You know, Tin Man,” I say, breaking the silence. “You don’t have to be so serious all the time. Life’s more fun when you loosen up a little.”

“Tin Man?” Felix looks at me over his glasses.

I tilt my head. “’Cause you’re cold and acting like you don’t have a heart.”

Felix sits up straighter, his expression unreadable. “Not everyone has the luxury of living life without consequences, Julian.”

The words hit harder than I expected. He thinks I’m just another rich kid who’s never had to fight for anything. And to be fair, that’s exactly what I want most people to think.

I lean back in my chair, smirking to hide the shift in my mood. “I wouldn’t call playing quarterback for this school a consequence-free life. You try dodging a 250-pound linebacker and tell me how easy it is.”

Felix doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even crack a smile. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a pause, the air between us heavy with unspoken words. I want to ask him what he does mean, but I know better than to push too hard.

“Well,” I say, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I’ll let you get back to saving the world. Just don’t forget to take a break sometime. Take care of yourself.”

Felix watches me leave, his gaze unreadable.

I walk out of the library into the cool night air, feeling something I haven’t felt in a long time—curiosity.

Felix Caruso doesn’t just see the surface. He looks deeper, even if he doesn’t like what he finds.

And for some reason, I want to know what it would take to make him look at me differently.

I pick up my phone, dialing the number of the guy who hacks into the school system to fix my grades.

“Hey, I need a favor.”